Ashes of Victory
by Viaan
Summary: Contains spoilers. Takes place after the final battle with the Archdemon atop Fort Drakon.
1. The End

Dragon Age: Origins and the characters contained within remain the property of Bioware. I am just borrowing them for a bit.

Below was largely how my first play through turned out (with some artistic license on my part) and I don't have any problems with this particular outcome. As devastated as I was by Alistair's sacrifice, it seemed like this was something he needed to do. Though I will add that I absolutely took Morrigan's bargain on all my subsequent games – losing Alistair once was enough!

At the time, I felt as though the whole thing rushed past very quickly with no chance to absorb what was about to happen. And then were the post-battle celebrations, in which no-one seemed to care overmuch that Alistair had died. So I thought I might try my hand at an introspective account of these events. This is my first (possibly only) attempt at fanfiction, so feedback and reviews are welcome.

**Chapter One: The End.**

The wind howled forlornly atop Fort Drakon, the hot, dry air fanning the fires left behind by the Archdemon. The skies above were also alight with the same fiery hue, tainting the very air with the stench of blood and smoke. Far below, unaware of the events atop the tower, the assembled armies continued to rage at one another. The faint cries of men and darkspawn in their death throes echoed faintly up to where we stood, trembling with exhaustion.

For us, the battle was nearly over. The Archdemon had been met in combat and we had prevailed. The dragon itself lay dying, each rasping breath a gurgling chorus of blood and phlegm. From its lidded eyes, glazed with agony and exhaustion, one might almost believe it was resigned to its fate. Nevertheless, the razor sharp teeth promised to shred anyone foolish enough to venture close.

The primal ferocity of our battle was evident in our battered and bloodied state. Wynne was breathing haggardly beside me, her silver hair almost singed away from the deadly breath of the creature. From across the ramparts, Alistair approached us, his once fine armour rent by the claws of endless hordes of darkspawn and painted red by their blood and gore as he cut them down with great sweeps of his sword.

Over time our technique had become so attuned that it was nearly akin to dancing. Side by side, my shield would absorb a staggering blow and he would lunge for the opening the enemy so carelessly presented. Then I would follow with a flurry of fast, deadly swipes that left our opponent reeling. The dragon was not so easily defeated, but we had held our own until the darkspawn had begun to flood out from the staircase bringing with them their deadly emissaries. As a bolt of lightning slammed into my side, nearly causing me to drop my shield, Alistair had grimly met my gaze and nodded. He withdrew to protect our flank even as I continued to battle the dragon, Wynne standing close by to bathe me with healing magic.

And then it had been over, the dragon collapsing in steaming, grunting heap. "Where is Zev?" I scanned the murky horizon, my eyes narrowed as I searched for the blonde assassin. Moments earlier, though it seemed much longer, he had run off towards the ballistas, intent upon harnessing their lethal potential. "Keep doing what you are doing," he had yelled cheekily as he nimbly dodged a swipe of the dragon's tail before disappearing amidst the chaos.

"I am right behind you, as always." I slowly turned towards the smirking voice. Unbelievably, the Antivan looked completely untouched by fire or blood or any of the other foul substances that seemed to cling to the rest of us. "Show-off." I muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. He shrugged one shoulder eloquently though his eyes glittered with the triumph of victory.

Then Alistair looked at me. Our eyes locked and everything else became still as I forgot to breathe. Dimly I was aware that Zevran and Wynne were watching us. Waiting.

_Waiting for us. The last remaining Grey Wardens. _

The knowledge of what must surely come to pass in the next few moments burned within my breast, far more devastating than the scorching flames of the defeated Archdemon.

_One of us must die. With Riordan slain, it falls to either Alistair or I._

The pain began to ease as I felt a sense of peace sweep through my body, the path unfolding before me. I would be the one; that was as the Maker intended it should be. Everything in my life had led me to this point: the deaths of my family, Duncan, Cailan. Even Loghain. The toll was indeed high, but not yet complete. My death would finish the journey. And in doing so, Alistair would live. That mattered above all else.

I squashed the gnawing tendrils of doubt that suggested I should have taken Morrigan's unholy deal; that I should have at least offered Alistair the chance to make his own decision. But I hadn't even endured telling Alistair of her bargain, wracked with the feeling of _wrongness _that infused me. And thus I had returned to the witch with my refusal, knowing that the price might be my very life. And, strange as it seemed, I was content with that knowledge.

I became aware that Alistair was speaking. His voice washed over me at first, so surreal was the certainty of my impending death. Then the meaning of his words slowly dawned upon me. He intended to sacrifice _himself _to save Ferelden. To save me...

_But this was supposed to be MY decision. This is why I refused Morrigan. _The irony was exquisitely painful. The bitter realisation that she may have been right after all tasted like ashes in my mouth.

"I won't let you die either, Alistair." The words sounded like gravel and I swallowed convulsively. I became strangely conscious of the sound of my heart pounding, the trickle of blood and sweat down my cheek, the sting of clawed flesh.

He smiled sadly, eyes full of infinite tenderness. His gaze would haunt me to the end of my days. "You say that as if I'm giving you a choice." _So good we were at making decisions for the benefit of the other. It did not feel quite the same on the receiving end. _I could not look away as he reached out one hand to cup my face gently. Alistair's eyes shone with the depth of his feeling, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I half wondered if he were debating whether or not to make a wry joke. Then he glanced past me, his face all at once grave as he gave an unspoken signal. Strong, wiry arms seized me from behind.

"No! Alistair…" I didn't even recognise my own voice, hoarse with terror. "I love you, don't do this!" With sickened realisation, I knew that he had taken the decision out of my hands.

His face was set with resolve as he turned from me.

I struggled in vain against the restraining arms. "Let me _go, _damn you!" It was Zevran holding me back, his skilled fingers unerringly finding the pressure point in my neck that would hinder movement.

As if in a dream, I watched Alistair begin to run across the flagstones. Seizing an abandoned sword, its former owner a blackened lump of flesh, he lowered the point and charged straight at the fallen dragon. It grimly raised his head and roared at him, but its true strength was already spent. He half-dove, half-slid underneath the great, snaking neck and thrust the sword upwards into unprotected flash. The creature screamed anew and writhed, the severed arteries showering the Grey Warden in a fountain of blood.

As its head fell to the ground, I could see Alistair pause, catching his breath.

_There was still time._

I jerked my head back against Zevran with jarring force and simultaneously slammed one armoured heel into his shin. The Antivan grunted with pain as my assault connected. Despite his swift reflexes, the advantage was now mine and I seized the opportunity to escape. Wrenching free, I half-ran, half-scrambled towards where Alistair stood, poised, over the helpless body of the dragon.

_Too late._

With an savage cry he raised his sword and plunged it down into the Archdemon's brain.

There was silence for a heartbeat before a beacon of light erupted from the fallen dragon, suffusing the Grey Warden's body and stretching towards the heavens.

"Alistair," I whispered soundlessly as I watched my lover writhing in the radiant glow. His face showed the struggle, twisting in an agony that I couldn't even imagine. I tried to move closer but the light pulsed brighter, blinding me.

Then everything around me exploded and I knew no more.


	2. Aftermath

Well obviously this next part is complete fabrication on my part. Please forgive my presumption.

**Chapter Two – Aftermath.**

_Denerim was surprisingly quiet in the early evening. As the ever-present drone of a bustling city began to dwindle, the hum of crickets and insects softly weaved its way into the tapestry of sound around us. I could taste the vague tang of salt air upon the breeze. As someone who had grown up in Highever, the sights and sounds of the sea filled me with faint nostalgia. I sighed a little, running one hand through my hair. _

_Was Highever still home? _

_I no longer knew the answer. Even after joining the Grey Wardens, I still had the half-formed plan of finding my brother, Fergus, and returning to the home that had witnessed so much bloodshed. But there had been larger matters at stake: finding allies, formulating strategy…even the simple necessity of day-to-day survival in the face of the advancing darkspawn horde. One thing had led to another with scarcely a moment to draw breath. And now here we were in Denerim – the Landsmeet was over and things had finally stopped. Just for a moment._

_I felt the fingers of my other hand squeezed gently and glanced sideways to find Alistair watching me. "What are you thinking about so seriously?" He reached out and gently smoothed the furrow between my brows with the pad of his thumb. "Not regretting your decision, I hope?" He grinned at me lopsidedly and I felt my heart quicken slightly as it usually did when we were alone. _

"_Oh I don't know," I responded lightly, the dark memories retreating back inside my mind. "I suspect we wouldn't be free to wander alone like this if you were the King." I allowed him to tug me down beside him on a stone bench. "Too many people would want a piece of your time." I swallowed nervously before continuing "Do you regret it? That we supported Anora…" _

_Alistair's answer was vehemently fast. "Maker's breath, no. Things worked out for the best. I never, ever wanted power."_

_I couldn't help myself. "You're right, it probably would have gone to your head." I struggled to keep from smiling at the ridiculous notion of a power-hungry Alistair. _

"_Hmm, you may have a point. Imagine the things I could have accomplished!" His voice was tinged with laughter. "Ordered the court mages to produce ice in the middle of summer. Just for my royal beverages. Oooh, I could have commissioned a whole range of commemorative socks – every citizen of Ferelden could proudly go about his business knowing that he had the king's own name emblazoned on his hosiery."_

_I laughed, watching him warm to his topic. This was when I loved him the most, when he would go to ridiculous extremes just to make me laugh. Suddenly his eyes seemed to melt and he leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek._

"_Of course, there would have been other benefits to being king." Alistair's voice was husky, causing me great difficulty in concentration._

"_Is that so?" I managed to say._

_Alistair nodded, one finger tracing the outline of my jaw. "The beautiful women it attracts." His lips replaced his fingers, brushing my skin in a gentle kiss._

"_I think you do alright on your own," I whispered softly whilst fighting the urge to blush. He had been hard enough to resist when he was still inexperienced; his growing confidence in this area made it well-nigh impossible._

"_Good to know," he whispered back, eyes glinting warmly. I began to wonder if it might not be prudent to return to Arl Eamon's estate before things developed further in this direction._

"_You didn't answer my question earlier." Alistair's face became serious. "About whether you regretted the decision." He took a deep breath. "You might have been Queen."_

_His eyes conveyed the unspoken meaning behind his words. _I might have been Queen…at his side. Together.

_A lump in my throat began to form. "I ah…". Cohesive sentences were difficult when he was looking at me like that. "Obviously it is a hard thing to give up." I felt him tense against me and I continued hastily, "The socks alone make me reconsider the idea. Unless you were planning to keep them all to yourself, consolidate your monopoly?" He chuckled and seemed to relax again, sliding his arms around me. "Oh I'm sure my munificence might have extended to sharing my sock empire with my wife."_

_I forgot how to breathe._

_Alistair's voice had softened on the last two words and he held my gaze firmly, leaving me in no doubt of his meaning. As the silence stretched out he searched my eyes anxiously._

_Despite my best intentions, I felt my cheeks warming and a stupid grin began to form on my face._

_Taking this as reassurance, Alistair leaned forward so that his forehead rested against mine. My eyes drifted shut and I memorised the feel of his closeness, our breath mingling in the cool, night air._

"_But I suppose it's too late for all the pageantry now. Can you make do with a lowly Grey Warden who will love you until his dying day?" Alistair continued, muttering under his breath, "Hopefully that will be far from now and not as a result from being too presumptuous and dying of embarrassment." He fumbled in my lap, finding my hands and holding them tightly._

_I nodded my head up and down, my throat too tight to speak. Moisture began to prick behind my eyelids and threatened to spill over. Then he kissed me tenderly, cradling my face between his hands as we both trembled._

_#####_

I awoke to someone roughly shaking my shoulder. "Warden!" I ignored the insistent voice, trying to sink back into the dream.

"Viaan!" That was Leliana. She sounded worried. "Please wake up."

The stirrings of rational thought began to shred the hazy fabric of my comforting illusion. _What was Leliana doing here? _I opened my eyes and saw concerned faces peering down at me. "Thank the Maker, she's awake." Leliana's voice was relieved. "We feared that you had also fallen to the archdemon."

The word _also_ was like a blow to the stomach. Everything came rushing back with sickening force.

_Alistair! _

I tried to sit up and my vision swam alarmingly. I found myself leaning sideways and vomiting thoroughly onto the flagstones. My body trembled as beads of sweat appeared on my brow. Fighting the urge to continue the purging of my stomach, I held one mailed fist in front of my mouth, _willing_ myself to regain control.

"Is she alright? What is the matter?"

I had not realised Bann Teagan was also here. The battle must be well and truly over by now…_how long have I been out?_

Wynne responded. "It's just the aftermath of the archdemon's death." She paused for a moment, omitting the most obvious part of what ailed me: Alistair's death. "It affected all of us, though as a Grey Warden Viaan feels it more keenly."

"Allow me," said an accented voice as Zevran knelt beside me and offered his hand in assistance. My jaw tensed and I physically had to stop my mouth from curling. I looked at his hand coldly and ignored it, painstakingly finding my feet on my own. "Ah," I heard the Antivan remark sadly, but I refused to look in his direction. He may have refrained from assassinating me on behalf of the Crows, but he _had_ betrayed me when it most counted. Holding me back had cost me precious seconds that I could have used to stop Alistair from sacrificing his own life.

As I stood amongst them, my companions grew quiet. Almost instinctively they parted so that I could at last see the sight they had shielded with their bodies.

Alistair lay on his back, hands still gripping the sword he had used to slay the Archdemon. Someone had pulled him away from the dragon's bloody corpse and arranged his limbs with some dignity.

Without conscious thought, I began to walk towards where he lay. My footsteps echoed with unnatural volume as my plate boots hit the stone. My companions remained where they stood, though I could feel their collective gaze upon me as they simultaneously held their breaths to see what would happen.

_Clang!_

My knees gave way beneath me as I reached Alistair's body and I clattered to the ground beside him. At least he looked peaceful, his features relaxed…not twisted with agony as his soul was destroyed. I found myself sparing the Maker a grateful thought for that fact as the tears began to flow. Tearing off one gauntlet, I reached out with trembling fingers and touched the beloved mouth that would smile no more. His skin was already cold.

I began to sob in earnest, falling back on my heels. I don't know what I had been expecting, perhaps some sort of miracle? I knew that they happened: I had seen one small pinch of Ashes cure the Arl of Redcliffe. I knew that Wynne's life had been spared by one of the benevolent spirits that inhabited the Fade.

_Why not Alistair?_

"Andraste, please…please bring him back. I will do anything, I swear. Please don't take him from me…" I repeated it over and over, staring at Alistair's unmoving form and praying as I had never prayed before. I continued my plea, the words becoming increasingly hoarse until my lips were merely forming the syllables with no sound emerging.

Nothing happened.

Eventually I slumped forward over his body, my head resting against his chest. I don't know how long I remained that way before I became aware of the murmured conversation coming from somewhere behind me, the voices low and concerned. A wet nose found my ear, shortly followed by a scratchy tongue as I was rather insistently licked.

Bran whined sadly, the mabari hound laying his muzzle on Alistair's arm. He knew the reality as well as I did. From somewhere deep down I summoned the reserves that allowed me to reach out my hand to scratch his ears. He made an appreciative whine and shifted his great bulk closer to me as if to remind me that I could not stay here forever.

Swallowing, I nodded and wiped my face with the back of my hand. I knew that it was covered in blood, ash and tears but I did not care. "Sten?" I called out without moving, pitching my voice to carry.

A moment later he was at my side. "Yes?"

"Could you…carry him? I don't know that I have the strength and I don't want to leave him here alone with _that._" My voice cracked as I nodded my head in the direction of the Archdemon.

"We will carry him proudly as befits a Hero of Ferelden." Bann Teagan's voice was thick with emotion. He joined the qunari and the pair lifted Alistair's body onto their shoulders.

My mouth twisted but I remained silent. I cared nothing for heroes at this moment. A small part of me wondered if Alistair would have carried me thus, had I been the one to fall.

_A stupid thought, that, and completely pointless._

We made our way from the tower: a sad procession of battered and bloodied heroes, though none of us felt like such at that moment. Even still, the residents of Ferelden slowly began to leave the safety of their houses and pour out onto the streets. Many lives had been lost but our efforts had not gone in vain…the Blight had been averted and humanity was once again safe.

I may have been the only one to silently add,_ "For the moment."_


End file.
